


Forever Linked

by ashes0909, athletiger



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, POV Alternating, POV Steve Rogers, POV Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-21 02:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17034644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909, https://archiveofourown.org/users/athletiger/pseuds/athletiger
Summary: Before the door even clicked shut, he opened his mouth to let the pink petals flutter to the ground. In the center of all this mess was a single rose, not yet bloomed, but Tony knew, deep down, what this meant.But they were only teammates for sure; nothing else will go further.-“You have Hanahaki?” she asked, barely more than a whisper.He fisted out the petal from his pocket and held it out to her. “If that’s what would cause this to come out of my throat.”





	1. Roses are Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hayluhalo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hayluhalo/gifts).



> This fic has a poem that I made up:  
>  _Roses are red,_  
>  _Blossoms are pink,_  
>  _Please get these two idiots together_  
>  _Because they're forever linked._
> 
> ...It was "dumbasses" before it was "idiots," a testament to how annoyed I was at these two. Anyway, this fic is for Hayluhalo. This is what happened when you asked for misunderstandings, Discord said "hanahaki" and my brain said, "What if both Steve and Tony got Hanahaki at the same time because they're idiots and need to get their heads out of their asses?"
> 
> Hence, my co-author and I wrote a double hanahaki AU. I am definitely not sorry about that. Also my amazing co-author is such a dear! I'm so glad she was willing to work with me - honestly I'm so honored that she was there, willing to write and take my ideas and run with it. I honestly couldn't have done this story without you. Take my hugs and kisses!
> 
> Both chapters tell the same story from different POVs.
> 
> tiger: I'd like to thank Skye07 and marielectriceel for the betas! Thank you so much for ripping my chapter apart so that it could be better!  
> ashes: thanks for the beta ferret and thanks for reading! We hope you enjoy :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve looked so earnest that all of a sudden, Tony’s breath caught in his throat and he could feel the blush forming in his cheeks. The familiar itch in his throat was back, and he gasped in surprise. It was unavoidable, all-consuming, the caught breath and the feeling that something was blocking his airway. Tony coughed, leaping to his feet and covering his mouth with his hands. He felt bad for fleeing, but he didn’t want Steve seeing him like this and worrying.

The broken pieces of his first robot lay on the floor of his father’s study, a dark red handprint on his cheek. In shock, the boy raised a grubby hand to touch the heated flesh, eyes widened and hurt. “You know better than to interrupt me when I’m working,” Howard roared at him. A six-year-old Tony clenched his jaw almost to the point of pain, fisting his hand hard by his side so that he wouldn’t show more weakness than the initial cry of shock of being hit, and he directed his eyes towards the wall, looking at the plethora of pins gathered in the Arctic Ocean. It was the project Howard was working on prior to Tony’s eager interruption.

“Boy, look at me when I speak.”

Reluctantly, Tony dragged his gaze to look into the eyes of his father, only seeing coldness there, no love.

“Never do that again. I don’t need your interruptions and your _clever_ designs distracting me from my project. Leave.”

And as Tony stood in the corridor outside of his father’s study, looking at the shut door, he heard his father say through the crunching sound of his broken robot on the floor, “Why can’t he more like Captain America?”

At that moment, he never felt so many bad feelings in his heart for one Captain America, the man who stole him from his father.

There was an incessant tickle in his throat. He tried to clear it, first softly, then a little harder, pulling away from the door so that Howard wouldn’t hear him eavesdropping out in the corridor. When that didn’t work, he coughed, once, into his small, oil-stained hands. He moved his hand back away from his mouth, and there was a miniature yellow rose splattered with blood and the remnants of oil.

-

Tony, for the longest time, chalked the event off as an anomaly, for he hadn’t coughed another flower since that fateful day. The rose, however, sat in its pale yellow glory with splatters of dark red, preserved perfectly in resin. Tony looked at the flower every time he worked on a new project in his workshop,  the flower serving as a reminder that Howard would never care about what he created. Looking at that flower every day also served as an outlet for his anger and drive so that he could create better inventions that would eventually even surpass Howard’s brilliance.

Yet, all the anger that had driven him during his teenage years bled away in a moment when he woke up from a deep sleep coughing, feeling like his lungs were about to come out through his throat. He hacked, petals fluttering over the sides of his mouth, and then he shot up, spitting a flower bud into his open palm.

Tony rasped as soon as he was able to speak through all the petals fluttering out of his mouth, “Lights...lights at twenty percent.”

His crude attempt of an automated system had not yet been working right yet, so Tony stretched his arm out to turn on the table lamp. The movement jarred his ribs painfully. In the dim light, Tony looked at the dark red rose in his hand, crimson petals all around him. (The only thing missing that would have completed this morbid scene was vanilla-scented candles.)

The phone rang.

“‘Lo?” he mumbled into the receiver.

It was Aunt Peggy. “Tony, your parents, Jarvis,” she choked out.

And Tony knew, even before she said those fateful words and his life fell apart like the rose, colored a deep crimson red, already crumbling into dust in his hand.

He mourned over the loss of Maria and Jarvis (and to a certain extent, Howard, since he _was_ still his father), cupping the ashes of the rose protectively.

The remains of the rose sat in a small aluminum urn Tony created himself, and the red jar sat beside the yellow rose.

-

Tony’s heart lightened when he stepped foot in his workshop. The comfort that the familiar room brought overwhelmed him, and he collapsed into his chair, breathing. Just breathing. Being in the cave gave Tony a new perspective and appreciation for the things he had now: his bots, JARVIS, his friends.

Rhodey stayed with him the entire flight from Afghanistan back to the airbase at home where Pepper and Happy were waiting on the tarmac for his return. It was pleasant, to say the least, to realize that he had friends to have his back.

So as Tony got to work, fiddling with the new arc reactor to replace the one he made in the cave, he felt the old familiar tickle at the back of his throat. For a moment, he hoped that it was just a cold, but that illusion was quickly dispersed as the petals spewed from his mouth. The jostling of the arc reactor in his chest didn’t help the situation at all either.

It was pink this time, and Tony coughed up three fully bloomed roses, the striking color of his blood splattered like dew drops on top of the pastel hue.

It was beautiful in a pretty morbid way, Tony thought as he slumped in his chair, wiped from the fit. Coughing with a hole in his chest made life much harder, as if it wasn’t already hard enough. His chair rolled over the pink petals scattered on the floor so that he could put the three roses as an addition to the other two, beside the small collection memories on his desk.

“Sir,” JARVIS promptly said overhead. His tone earnest and inquisitive, if an AI could be concerned. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” Tony replied, his voice still rasping a little bit. “It’s no big deal.”

“Studies shows that those who have symptoms of vomiting flowers are signaled to have—”

“I know what I have J,” Tony interrupted, voice coming back slowly. “It’s not the first time I hacked up flowers. Hey, tell me, what do the pink mean?”

JARVIS went silent for a moment, before he said, almost hesitantly, “Pink roses are signified to be admiration and gratitude.”

Tony contemplated this. Three roses: Rhodey, Pepper, Happy. “Makes sense.”

“Also, I would like to notify you that Miss Potts has entered the building.”

“Fuck!” Tony exclaimed, sliding off his chair to gather the flattened petals on the ground.

The last of the petals fluttered into the trash can as Pepper pressed the codes to enter into his workshop, and Tony scrambled up, lifting his arc reactor again in a rush.

“Heeey, Pep,” Tony said as casually as he could. Pepper looked at him suspiciously.

“Tony?” she asked. “You alright there?”

Tony nodded. “Yep.” He really hoped she didn’t notice what he had been doing, picking up those petals off the floor.

“What were you doing on the floor?”

Nope, as usual, her eyes caught everything. It took all the strength he had not to squirm under her watchful gaze. “Oh, you know,” Tony hedged, “just finding a lost wire. For...the arc reactor!”

That sounded like a plausible excuse. “And that reminds me, I need your help for a second.” He held the new arc reactor in front of him, showing Pepper the glowing blue contraption. “This is going to keep me alive for the foreseeable future.”

Replacing the arc reactor could have been better, but as she switched the new arc reactor from the old, he glanced at the pink roses on the table, and he breathed, trusting his life in her hands.

“That wasn’t so bad wasn’t it?” Tony asked.

Pepper, despite the lingering anxiousness and panic from nearly killing him, managed to send him a glare. “Never again.”

Tony casually shrugged, getting down from the recliner and walking over to his desk again. “Would a new pair of Louboutins placate you?”

“Make that two,” Pepper said before coming towards him with the obsolete arc reactor in hand. “What should I do with this?”

Tony glanced at it briefly, recalling all the memories and the struggles that came with building the one that she held in her hand. “Toss it - don’t need it.” Already he was dismissing her and the thing that originally saved him, focusing instead on the utter mess on his desk and demanding DUM-E to clean it.

Pepper had a good heart, Tony thought, as he lifted the old arc reactor from the broken glass and inserted it into the empty hole in his chest – she deserved much more than the two pair of shoes he gifted her. His mouth poured dead, black rose petals, and he felt like he was dying in more ways than one even as he gasped breaths back into his lungs. In the midst of such a dire situation, he remembered the pink roses, sitting on his desk one meter away from where he lay on the floor, and he promised himself that her rose would be placed into a memory box and presented to her.

It would mean so much more than those shoes.

It was worth it to see the joy on Pepper’s face, even if the means of the rose was slightly morbid. The blood streaks down the petals of the pink rose created an artistic mood, and the blood looked meshed enough with the color of the petals that Pepper was none the wiser.

-

The man in the blue suit and cowl looked familiar. Tony had seen him before, but only in comic books. For a moment, he assumed that it was just another man donning the iconic Captain America suit, but the man who blocked Loki’s scepter with near-superhuman strength could only be the one true Captain America, because as far as he knew, no one had been able to create a replica of the supersoldier serum.

After all this time of fruitless searching, Howard’s prized project was finally found, and not even by the man who, for so long, never gave up on finding his hero. This was the man who took his father away from a childhood that could have been happy.

Possibly happy. He would never know.

The familiar itch in his throat was back, and as he moved towards the fighting figures, he was consumed by old memories of the priorities that Howard had. “Mute, Jarvis,” Tony choked out before he let out a deep cough. The forgotten feelings of jealousy were back. The silky feeling of petals tumbled out the side of his mouth, sliding down his cheeks, but then he pushed the thoughts aside. It was no time for lingering feelings, not at that moment and especially not as he donned his suit. His focus now was to help Cap.

“Did you miss me?” Tony said to Natasha, flying past the Quinjet.

Tony forgot about his fit when he stepped out of the suit, storing it in one of the storage bays on the Helicarrier. He had important business to take care of.

Yellow petals trailed across the floor behind him.

(No agent confronted him about the roses that hung around in the storage bays, but had they done so, Tony would have claimed that those roses were for Pepper – he was buying flowers for her when the call for help came.)

-

Steve wasn’t a bad person. Tony just wanted to hate him for even while under the ice, he had stolen his father away.

That lingering feeling of loathing from his childhood years still remained in his mind, but he didn’t let his feelings get in the way of inviting the Avengers, including Steve, into the Tower. It had nothing to do with keeping friends close and enemies closer. Nope. It had everything to do with seeing Steve’s blue eyes wide and lost as he continued to stumble his way through the twenty-first century like a newborn fawn.

Yet, when Steve smiled at him with that brilliant grin and a twinkle in his eyes with gratefulness, it was hard to detest him. Perhaps he could see what his father saw. It didn’t make what his father did to him right, but at least he understood a little bit more now.

Perhaps Tony could even say that those passing moments when Steve gave him a soft “morning” or a passionate “Avengers Assemble!” influenced the beginnings of something deep within his chest, feelings growing out of an untouchable awe of a national icon or glorified hero his father had praised.

On a rare day, Tony sat in the communal living room, working on his Starkpad, several holograms floating in the air. Just off to the side Bruce was working on an elaborate breakfast (like a five cheese, spinach, bacon, and mushroom omelet, if Tony recalled correctly. That, or a large stack of pancakes - all he knew was that the delicious smell of breakfast that wafted into the living room was making his stomach growl so that subsisting solely on coffee was not enough). Clint was by the high-rise windows doing some elaborate gymnastic stretches.

“Hey birdbrain, exploding arrows or grappling ones?” Tony asked, swiping his finger to the right to spin the hologram before blindly grabbing his coffee and sipping it.

“How about ones that multiply midair?” Clint returned. “That way if I get involved in another invasion I won’t have to run out of arrows and be overwhelmed like the last time.”

Tony hummed. “Let me see what I can do.”

There was a plate and a fork in his peripheral vision, and Tony absently munched on the breakfast given to him. While it was delicious, he barely tasted it as he zoned in on creating weapons for the archer, and it was only until sharp coughing that broke his concentration. He turned around sharply and standing at the entrance of the room was Steve, red-faced as he coughed and coughed and coughed, not even pausing to take an even slightest breath. In fact, Tony wasn’t even sure if he _could_ with the way he was coughing like he was ill.

“Do you need water?” Tony asked when Steve’s coughs settled just a bit. Steve shook his head and made his way towards the kitchen. He was slightly hunched over, a hand gently placed against his stomach, but even with his less-than-perfect state, he still looked amazing. Tony’s eyes were drawn by the expanse of his back, barely covered by the tight-fitting white t-shirt he had on, leading down to reveal a peek of skin between his top and sweatpants.

Tony held his breath, biting his tongue to keep from spouting out something to embarrass himself. Something like, “Wow, that _ass_.” So focused on his musings and staring at Steve, Tony missed his next words.

“Huh?” Tony said dumbly. God, he must look like a sight, drooling like he’d never seen ass before (but _man_ , what a shapely one though). Tony dragged his eyes to see Steve looking back at him.

“You’re not in the workshop, and well, I figured there was a reason. It’s just...it’s good to see you up here with everyone. It’s nice having you around.”

Steve looked so earnest that all of a sudden, Tony’s breath caught in his throat and he could feel the blush forming in his cheeks. The familiar itch in his throat was back, and he gasped in surprise. It was unavoidable, all-consuming, the caught breath and the feeling that something was blocking his airway. Tony coughed, leaping to his feet and covering his mouth with his hands. He felt bad for fleeing, but he didn’t want Steve seeing him like this and worrying.

Thankfully his room wasn’t too far away, although every step closer to his room felt more and more like torture trying to hold back his mouth full of silky texture. As soon as he crossed the threshold and before the door even clicked shut, he opened his mouth to let the pink petals flutter to the ground.

In the center of all this mess was a single rose, not yet bloomed, but Tony knew, deep down, what this meant.

And this time, the flowers _meant_ something more than just the casual affection or the jealousy or mourning.

This feeling, well, Tony preferred not to think about it as he gathered the bloodstained petals from the ground and dumped it into the garbage can. Tony picked up the bud though and set it gently on his bedside table, away from the other roses down in his workshop.

His relationship with Steve was only just teammates for sure; nothing else will go further. He only just got over his jealousy for fuck’s sake. There is no way that Steve would like him that way.

(Tony was just fooling himself.)

-

Ever since that day, whenever Tony stumbled into Steve, it was hard not to turn the other way and flee the way he came immediately. Understanding Steve better didn’t help with his dilemma at all. But with every interaction, the itch made itself known, forcing Tony to suppress the reflex until it became nearly unbearable and he would have to excuse himself before he would cough darker and darker shades until it was nearly indistinguishable to interpret whether it was pink or red.

But Steve was like coffee: Tony was going to search him out unconsciously without fail. Steve was good company, Tony told himself.

It was a spontaneous thought that Tony was taking the elevator to the highest balcony of Stark Tower instead of down to his workshop after the latest board meeting that lasted four hours too long. Even Pepper, normally so composed and patient, was nearly at the end of her rope when the other board members kept fighting over the numbers of the current quarter.

“Look,” Pepper snapped, “Sales are up, investors are ecstatic about the new generation of StarkPhones, and R&D is working on the next generation of medical laser technology, which is anticipated to come out at the end of the next quarter. They are also working on making the arc reactor technology available for the civil government. Is there anything else you would like to add?”

Pepper’s glare looked downright deadly, promising murder if any of the members decided to speak up. It did shut them up effectively so that Tony could interject, “Awesome, good talk guys. Let’s adjourn.”

Tony simply was not in the mood for building stuff at the moment, hence his current journey towards the roof of the Avengers Tower.

He was not the only one who noticed the sunset setting over the New York skyline, the sky colored in red and purple hues. Standing near his favorite spot was a familiar silhouette.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Tony casually said, taking up his favorite spot beside Steve. “I thought you’d be at the gym all day.”

“Tony,” Steve replied in greeting. His eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, soaking in the warm sunlight. Tony couldn’t help but stare at him, soaking in the sight of the long expanse of his neck, the golden shimmering hair blowing gently in the breeze. If Tony was an artist, he would draw this scene to immortalize this moment forever.

Alas, he wasn’t an artist, not the paintbrush type anyway, so Tony committed this sight to memory instead. Finally Steve opened his shining cerulean eyes and looked at him. Tony’s throat closed up, and he swallowed, twice, trying to dispel the familiar feeling that came up constantly now when he was around him.

“How’s...how has work been?” Tony asked, pushing away the feeling. Steve doesn’t like him that way anyway – they were just coworkers. “I heard Fury’s been giving you hell down in D.C.”

“It’s been alright. Work’s not too bad especially with Natasha on my six,” Steve replied. “Are _you_ alright though? I don’t see you up here often, and it’s been a while since we’ve last talked...outside of mission reports, I mean.”

Tony waved off his concerns with a flap of his hand, sliding his eyes off of Steve to look at the sun setting behind the buildings, its glow still casting a warm wave in the city. “I’m fine; been busy with the company. Meeting ran much longer than expected, and there wasn’t really much point going back into the workshop when I know Bruce is cooking Indian curry tonight.”

“Not to mention Nat would kill you if you missed movie night again.” Steve looked amused, blue eyes twinkling. For the second time in less than ten minutes, Tony’s breath caught in his throat when he looked at Steve again. And this time, like a tidal wave, the feeling overpowered any will of suppression.

The tickle in his throat bubbled up, and Tony’s eyes widened. “Excuse me,” Tony said, voice near-whisper.

Tony coughed even before he stepped back into the tower, hand covering his mouth so that the petals wouldn’t spill out of his mouth. He ignored the alarmed “Tony!” as he spat out the red petals into the trash can he grabbed on the hurried race to his room.

The disease was getting worse as Tony got to know Steve better and better - for sure, he was falling in love with someone who didn’t love him back, and the feeling cut through his heart.

More often than not, Tony’s throat scratched and hurt because the red petals almost constantly disrupted his life whenever he came into Steve’s vicinity.

“J,” Tony said. He was laying on his bed, head tiredly propped up against a few pillows. “At this rate, how long will the Hanahaki Disease consume my lungs?”

“Previous data suggests that the Hanahaki Disease was benign; you had the opportunity to heal your lungs before the event happened again,” JARVIS reports. “However, based on current data, your interaction with Captain Rogers accelerated the Hanahaki Disease. Calculations and research data suggest that you only have two months before the disease kills you.”

Tony sighed heavily, looking up at the ceiling blankly. Steve didn’t like him that way, at all. “Sir, perhaps you could consider surgery?”

“No,” Tony replied. He brought the red rose, half-bloomed and stained with blood, his blood, to his sight. Only a partial shade distinguished the true color of the rose with the stains of his blood on the petals - at a quick glance, the change was nearly indistinguishable. He _could_ get surgery, but he didn’t want to. He wanted that connection, however slight, with Steve.

“No,” Tony repeated, “no surgery.”

The ensuing silence felt part disapproving, part sad. “As you wish sir.”

-

Tony hid his disease well, but he didn’t hide it well enough, he supposed. He was turning pale, probably due to the fact that he was coughing up a lot of his own blood, the bitter tang coating his mouth, on a daily basis. Nat, Clint, even Steve and Pepper looked at him strangely with concern lining their faces, and when they asked about it, he dismissed them, citing exhaustion. He still fought with the team, although he had to carefully avoid looking at Steve in case he went into a fit mid-flight. It didn’t help with the fact that Steve still threw himself off buildings, forgetting that he couldn’t fly, and so Tony was still forced to catch him and dump him on the ground, muting his comms so that the rest of the team couldn’t hear his dying chokes and curses.

Tony felt as if a strategic retreat into his workshop post-mission was the best idea at the moment, screw the post-op meeting.

Naturally, Steve used his team leader override to enter into his workshop.

“Tony, you know you have to go to the meeting,” Steve said. “Fury’ll have your ass if you don’t.”

“Fury could go shove the meeting up his ass,” Tony bit back, suppressing the itchy feeling in his throat back down. He touched the holographic screen, bringing up Mark XVIII in an attempt to look busy. “I’m busy.”

Steve sighed behind him. “You’re still a member of the team Tony.” He sounded more fond than annoyed though.

A breeze indicated that Steve had left his position behind Tony, but what happened next didn’t make the situation any better.

“Why are there flower petals in your suit? And...is that blood?”

 _Shit_.

“I was just picking flowers for Pepper before we were called out,” Tony said as calmly as possible. “That’s just blood from injuries during the fight.”

Steve looked at him suspiciously. “So you’re injured?”

Tony breathed out heavily, “Nothing I can’t take care of.” But Steve had already crowded back into Tony’s space, looking over him with a critical eye. It was too close, too fast. Tony pushed Steve away, and it took all of his will to even try to keep the petals down.

“Look, I don’t need your help,” Tony snapped harshly. Steve jerked back, eyes flashing hurt, and Tony felt guilty for being so abrasive. But _Steve couldn’t know his feelings;_ he couldn’t reciprocate, there was no way. Even so, he felt even worse when Steve closed down.

“Fine,” Steve replied breezily, turning around and leaving Tony behind, walking past the threshold of his workshop. Pepper was just on the other side of the door. “Good day, Pepper.”

Tony bit his lip so hard that his blood bubbled to the surface. Pepper looked at him, face questioning and disappointed. But before she could get any sound out of her open mouth, Tony jerked away and grabbed the trash can, letting the bloody petals fall in.

“Tony!” Pepper gasped. All he could reply was a groan. “Is that…”

“It is,” Tony rasped out. He wiped the splatters of blood from his mouth, still heaving.

The clicking of heels came closer until Pepper’s sharp Louboutin (one of the ones he gifted her post-Afghanistan, he absently noticed) entered into his view.

“Who is it?” Pepper asked.

In answer, Tony looked at the door where Steve had long gone, and Pepper _understood_.

“Oh, _Tony_.”

Pepper’s arms were warm around him, and he placed his forehead on her shoulder, exhausted.

“So, that pink rose…?”

“That’s yours,” Tony replied.

“Then what is going on?”

“I’ve had the Hanahaki since I was a kid, but my flowers always changed colors,” Tony elaborated. He pointed to the pale yellow flower on his desk, dried but still beautiful even after more than thirty years. “That was the first flower I coughed up.”

“When?” Pepper breathed, leaning over to pick up that yellow rose. She inspected it, gingerly turning it in her fingers.

“I was six.”

She snapped her attention back to him. “What?”

JARVIS elaborated, “Sir has been coughing up flowers that symbolized his feelings after traumatic events. Yellow stands for ‘jealousy.’”

Tony nodded. “I coughed that up after I got kicked out of Howard’s study. I was jealous of Captain America.”

Thankfully, Pepper didn’t ask further on that topic. She knew well of the conflict between Tony and Howard. “And how about my flower?” Pepper demanded, setting the yellow rose back down on his desk and pointed to the two pink roses beside the yellow one. “You have two other roses of the same color of that one you gave me after Afghanistan.”

“Pink symbolizes ‘affection,’” JARVIS replied.

Tony said, “Those are for Happy and Honeybear.”

“Sir’s disease used to be periodic,” JARVIS reported. “However, he has worsened since Captain Rogers moved into the tower.”

“Because the nature of the disease changed,” Pepper said. It wasn’t a question. She put two and two together. “It used to be for traumatic events, which is essentially unheard of, but now the Hanahaki has transitioned into the classic disease of unrequited love. Have you told him?”

Tony gave her a sad smile, perhaps an answer in itself. “He doesn’t reciprocate.”

“Oh, _Tony_ ,” Pepper said sadly, hugging Tony again. “How long do you have left?”

“Sir is estimated to have four weeks left before the disease consumes his lungs,” JARVIS said.

“And you’re not considering surgery. Of course you’re not.” Pepper’s arms tightened around his shoulder. “You brilliant, gorgeous idiot. Are you _sure_ Steve doesn’t return your affections? Knowing you, you didn’t ask.”

Tony swallowed, the ache in his chest refusing to go away. “I’m sure,” he replied, hugging her back.

They stayed that way for a long time.

-

Tony avoided Steve at all costs now, now that the blood red petals spilled out constantly out of his mouth instead of just coming out when he saw Steve. Tony coughed, and coughed and coughed, no end to the constriction in his lungs. It made concentrating hard, but he managed.

Despite that, he still felt slightly guilty for pushing Steve away so abruptly. He made a more durable uniform for Steve in apology for snapping at him, stashing weapons and tools within the mix of chainmail and Kevlar combination he created for the pigheaded soldier (as well as a well-deserved parachute compacted in the back of the uniform, just in case). With a hand covering his mouth, he placed the packaged goods in front of Steve’s bedroom door and snuck away.

He didn’t bother waiting to see when Steve opened his door to pick up the nondescript package, although he did order JARVIS to pull the footage as he sat in his workshop while the flower petals continued to tumble out of his mouth. Steve looked surprised to see the unexpected package, but after inspecting the contents, he grinned and looked directly into the camera, sending a salute to Tony.

Tony’s throat closed up tight, so much so that he couldn’t breathe, let alone cough the offending objects deep within his lungs. His eyes widened but his vision narrowed as the feeling of impending death washed over him like a wave. He thought he’d made peace with death long ago, but as he gingerly brought his hand up to his throat, he realized imminently that he didn’t want to die, not yet at least.

He wanted to spend more time with Steve, even if he didn’t reciprocate his feelings. Tony banged hard at his chest, the sharp pain of the scar from the arc reactor jolting his lungs back to life, and he let the red petals flutter out of his mouth.

A dark red, fully bloomed rose sat in the middle of the mess, mocking him.

It was definitely harder to breathe now – JARVIS scanned his lungs weekly, and Tony watched as foreign branches grew within his lungs and took up space that he didn’t even have room to spare.

“J,” Tony gasped, “are there any events happening that Steve may want to go to?”

JARVIS said, “There is a new exhibition at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that Steve has mentioned wanting to attend.”

Tony got his breath under control, as much as he was able to anyway, and he ordered, “I want in. Get me on the list and get Steve on it too.”

Because even if it was damning, Steve still brought joy to Tony’s life in a different way, a special one. And Tony was not going to wither away without taking a chance to soak in Steve’s presence as much as possible.

“As you wish sir,” JARVIS said.

Seeing the delight on Steve’s face when Tony presented the tickets for the exhibition made the pain in his chest lessen just a little, although the tickle and the need to cough was ever present in his throat. Still, Tony enjoyed the calm company of the Captain as they strolled through Central Park on the crisp night after the exhibit, snow just barely fluttering down, merely a week before Christmas.

“Thanks for taking me to the exhibition,” Steve said. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing it  for a while, but they were entirely booked.”

“You’re welcome.” Tony looked at him, his smile wavering. “I thought you might like it. I pulled some strings to get those tickets, but I’m sure the Met would have allowed you free entry anyway had you showed up at their doorstep.”

Steve replied, “I could, but that wouldn’t be fair for the other paying ticket holders.”

Tony scoffed, his breath sending white smoke into the chilled air before dissipating, and he was about to reply that a few pieces of artwork at the Met were on loan from his own private collection, not to mention that he was a major benefactor, but in the next moment, Tony succumbed to the inevitable and he coughed once. Steve was too pure for him – he was beautiful, inside and out; he couldn’t be tainted by the ugliness of what Tony had done before and had since repented and repented. Tony turned away from him, covering his mouth to catch the falling petals before Steve could see.

“Tony, you alright?” Steve asked. Tony could hear a note of alarm.

“’m okay,” Tony croaked out before coughing again.

There were too many petals coming out of his mouth – Tony couldn’t hide this anymore from Steve, not while he stood there with nowhere to hide. Some slipped through his fingers, and the red petals of love fluttered into the snow, spreading a dash of colors to a white winter wonderland.

His face burned. His throat was killing him. Tears sprung into his eyes, unbidden. He didn’t want Steve to see this.

“Tony?” Steve’s voice was right behind him. “That’s…that’s the Hanahaki.”

Steve’s shoes crunched in the snow as he walked to face the still-coughing Tony. “Tony,” he asked urgently, “who is it? How long do you have?”

Tony wheezed in a breath, more of a whistle than anything else – he could feel the stems growing up his throat, slowly cutting off air, _soon_ . As much as he could, Tony shook his head, trying to avoid the conversation. He _couldn’t_ tell Steve because Steve didn’t love him.

“Tony.” It was now the sound of Cap’s voice, the one that no one dared disobey on the field.

Tony was going to take his secret to the grave, even if it was going to kill him.

(It was. In less than a week.)

“The person doesn’t love me,” Tony managed to wheeze out.

“Who, Tony?”

“I can’t tell you. Please, don’t make me. I can’t do this.”

No matter how much cajoling, how much ordering, how much Steve pleaded, Tony wasn’t going to give it up. He hit him when Steve suggested surgery. “Stop,” Tony breathed out, voice soft. He couldn’t go through living a loveless life while the love of his life was right there.

Steve hugged him, placing Tony’s head next to his beating heart, and they breathed together, not as lovers, but as close friends.

Oh, how Tony _wished_ things could be different.

Tony held the fully bloomed red rose in his hand away from Steve’s prying eyes.

-

He could barely breathe. The vines robbed him of his breath, not only within the diminished capacity of his lungs, but also up the sides of his throat. Tony was tired, exhausted from fighting for just one more day, gripping tentatively to life.

The roses he choked out were fully bloomed now; petals were few and far between.

It was curious, Tony thought in his hazy mind, that buying a dozen red roses signified love for a significant other, yet here he was, dying from a love unrequited. If that made sense.

It was hard to think.

Tony sat in his workshop, twirling a fully bloomed red rose in his hand and ignoring the constant spillage of roses from his mouth when Steve burst in.

“You,” Steve said, almost angrily. “Is that why you ran from me all those times?”

Tony spun around, and his breath caught. A rose bloomed in his mouth.

“I asked Pepper about you. I thought it was her that you were falling in love with,” Steve said. “Then I thought about it, and I figured it out. It was me. I don’t understand.”

If Tony wasn’t already not breathing, he would have stopped breathing here. Alas, the only thing he could do was widen his eyes, feeling slightly hurt from the passion of Steve’s words. But Steve wasn’t done talking yet. “You’re here dying of a disease that could be fixed, if you had _just told me about it_.”

Steve stomped forward and opened his fist. Tony glanced down.

And stared.

In the middle of it sat a white cherry blossom, stained in red. “Here we were being idiots when all we had to do was do this.” Steve leaned down and kissed Tony on the lips. Tony was utterly still, eyes wide open as the touch of soft and warm lips brushed against his own. Steve...liked...him? Warmth began to bubble within his chest, spreading from his heart to the rest of his body. It was an overwhelming feeling to realize that all this time Tony was pining for Steve, Steve was pining for him back.

Tony was still processing everything when Steve drew back slightly and looked at Tony, staring dead on. “You don’t have do die for me to love you, you know. I’d rather you live so that I could tell you that I love you too.”

With that declaration, Tony opened his mouth and let the last rose fall, stretching up so that he could kiss Steve properly this time. The vines that nearly choked him to death receded, and for the first time in a long time, Tony breathed freely.

“I love you.” He needn’t say anything else. They kissed in the circle of red roses as the clock struck midnight of Christmas Day.


	2. Blossoms are Pink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fluttering in Steve's chest expanded when Tony slid into his usual spot beside him. That was new. 
> 
> “Fancy seeing you here.” Tony had been so evasive for so long but now here he was, sitting down next to Steve.

 

On the first day of spring every year, Steve sat at their small kitchen table and watched as his mother dragged their sturdiest chair down the hall to the closet. Standing on the tips of her toes, his mama pulled down the fanciest thing in their Brooklyn apartment: a cardboard box wrapped in light pink satin.

“Today’s the day,” ten year old Steve sung, knowing that his mother was about to sing the words herself. And even though Steve knew exactly what was coming, he still held his breath for the magical moment when his mama would pull off the lid of the box and take out his great grandmother's crystal vase.

“Why don’t you go place it on the windowsill this year?”

Young Steve gaped at his mother, surprise making his hand shake, and he knew he shouldn’t shake near the vase so he froze, eyes flicking up to his mother’s reassuring smile.

“Go ahead, you won’t break it.” She smiled.

His lungs often caught on their own breath, his skin broke out in hives at the drop of a hat, but his mama seemed to trust him with this important vase so Steve reached out for it and carefully set it in the sunlight.

On the first day of spring every year, his mama took his hand and pulled him outside. They walked down the stairs of their apartment, anticipation growing as they crossed the street to the train. His mama always glowed on this day, and in decades to come, on train rides a century away, Steve would remember her joy.

They stopped at Central Park and the route was familiar. Some years, Steve skipped by his mama’s side, some years he ran ahead. This year he stayed close and watched as her smile grew, their destination coming into view.

Cherry blossoms trees - a grove of them nestled in the corner of the park. Steve watched his mama with a pair of garden cutters in her hand and a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

Later in the day, the sun just starting to curl into sunset, Steve would sit at the small kitchen table and watch the yellow light catch on the blossoms. Their soft pink color reminding him of spring, and home, of his mother’s laugh, and the mix of mischief and adventure that always swept over the first day of spring. Steve felt love and loved.

-

It was the first day of spring after his mother died and Steve woke with an itch in his throat. He often woke with aches, pains, but never on this day.

Things were different now. Steve left the vase in the closet, shut the window off from the sun. There were no cherry blossoms, just Steve, alone in his apartment with an itch in his throat to keep him company.

-

A century later, shortly after moving into the tower, Steve blinked awake and swallowed. His throat exploded in pain, rough and dry. Trying to ignore the irritating sensation, he made his way through his morning routine. But it was hard to ignore an ailment, when he’d been immune to them for years. Except...

“Happy first day of Spring, Mr. Rogers,” JARVIS greeted him as he walked out of his bedroom.

Steve stopped short. “Spring?”

“Yes, sir,” JARVIS replied. “Should I remove seasonal notifications from your customizable greeting?”

“No, no. I mean--” He considered it for a second, but who knew if he’d even be here in a year. The Avengers were together, but everything seemed on edge -- especially with Tony holed up in his workshop, almost running away at the sight of Steve these days. “It’s fine, JARVIS. Thanks.”

Steve wandered down to the common room floor, his throat itching all the way, his mind stubbornly on Tony. He’d thought they’d been getting along better, especially after the Chituri Invasion. But now instead of being at each other’s throats, it was almost like Tony was avoiding any room he was in.

The common room wasn’t empty. He almost choked when he saw the familiar puff of brown hair peeking out from over the couch. Tony.

Steve sucked in a breath and it sliced against the back of his throat, causing a loud series of coughs to erupt from deep in his lungs. The pain reminded him of that first spring after his mama passed, and since it seemed like lately he couldn’t stop thinking of Tony, a stray thought formed between coughs that Tony would’ve liked his mama, and he wondered what she would think of him.

Tony reacted to Steve’s arrival immediately, back straightening as he turned to face him. His eyes widened and then shot to the exit behind Steve, before settling back on him. “Are you all right? Do you need water?”

Shaking his head, Steve made his way to the kitchen in the corner. As he walked around the couch he noticed the half a dozen holoscreens that surrounded Tony. “I got it, you’re busy,” he managed between breaths. “Working with the others?”

“Huh?” Tony asked, and Steve felt Tony’s gaze on him as he drank, watching intently but not listening at all.

Steve wiped his mouth and gestured to the screens. “You’re not in the workshop, and, well, figured there was a reason.” Steve’s throat was on fire, he felt another round of coughs coming but he wanted to get this out before Tony up and disappeared again. “It’s just...it’s good to see you up here with everyone. It’s nice having you around.”

Tony’s eyes widened, and his breath caught, before he too erupted in coughs.

Steve shouldn’t have a cough at all, and now what if he had given it to Tony? Before he could focus on that issue, he turned to focus on the minor one instead. Reaching for a glass for Tony, and filling it with water. “Maybe we should go get checked out?” Steve suggested to the sink.

He received silence in reply. When he turned to give Tony the drink, the room was empty.

His absence was like a punch to the chest and the ache tore through him, ripped through his lungs and up his throat until he couldn’t breathe anymore. All he could do was gasp and cough and gasp and cough. He felt the movement up and down his throat, rushing up with each gasp.

And then it happened, he hacked hard, and a bundled up ball of spit landed in his hand. In the center of it was a single cherry blossom.

-

Steve was concerned, _extremely_ concerned. But he wasn’t panicking. At least, not yet. He’d been frozen in the arctic for ninety years, that alone made him believe that there had to be a logical, scientific reason, for coughing up a petal of the same flower his mom used to take from Central Park.

He briefly considered going to Tony for something like this, just wander down to his workshop. Tony liked decorating his desk with flowers. Something told Steve, he wouldn’t like this. Something was wrong in Steve’s chest and Tony was already running away from him.

He needed answers, and while Tony Stark was their resident genius, he wasn’t the only one with knowledge. The elevator opened up to her floor and he was greeted by the barrel of a gun. “Whoa!”

Natasha smirked, lowering the dismantled gun to her side. “I was just cleaning my pistol. Couldn’t resist.”

“Maybe try to next time?” he suggested, a lingering cough starting to grow at the base of his throat where a burst of air had hit. He cleared his throat. “How’d you know I wouldn’t react with a first?”

“You?” Her eyebrow rose, eyes shining with amusement. “Never.”

He hummed, the sound scratching his throat in a somewhat soothing way.

Natasha’s eyebrow dropped as her eyes narrowed. “You okay, Cap?”

He wanted to make it through this conversation without coughing, so he’d come prepared.

There hadn’t been anymore petals, just the one after Tony had left, but he felt something blooming in his lungs, a pressure that heated his chest and shortened his breath. A glass of water had worked to cool his cough back in his kitchen upstairs, but it wouldn’t last long.

He wanted to make it through this conversation without coughing, so he lifted the water bottle from his side and unscrewed the top. He took a few small sips, not wanting to run out before their conversation ended.

Natasha watched him the entire time, but didn’t comment. Instead after a moment, she gestured to the common room couch and moved to sit down. “What can I do for you? Your text was vague and you seem cagey.”

Steve sputtered. “I-- what? No.” He walked around the couch, taking another sip of his water as he went. “Reading,” he began after he swallowed. “I was doing it. And I came across something I wanted to ask you about.”

“Reading?” She sat down next to him, angling against the arm rest. It was like she pointedly didn’t look at the water bottle. “Fiction or non?”

Steve let out a too raspy breath. “I was hoping you could help me figure that out. Science and math is more Tony’s expertise, but this seemed more...magical.”

“The thing you read about?” she asked, as if she couldn’t quite follow. Which Steve couldn’t blame her for, considering he was sputtering and stammering.

“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together, swallowing away another cough. It was now or never. “Have you ever heard of someone coughing up flower petals?”

There wasn’t any visible reaction on Natasha’s face, but her gaze dropped to the water bottle. Steve’s stomach dropped. Why had he thought he could keep something like this hidden behind half truths?

“You have Hanahaki?” she asked, barely more than a whisper.

He fisted out the petal from his pocket and held it out to her. “If that’s what would cause this to come out of my throat.”

The cherry blossom was open between them, withering at the edges but still pink like it was waiting to soak in the sun from his mama’s windowsill. Natasha let out a laugh, but it lacked all humor, drenched instead in disbelief. “You can’t hide Hanahaki behind a bottle of water, Steve.” When she met his eye she was more serious than he’d ever seen before. “Who is it?”

“What?”

“The disease. It’s linked. To someone you love.”

The words didn’t make sense at first, they floated in his head bouncing off each other. When they finally clicked his head started shaking on its own accord, his blood running cold. “There’s no one.”

“Well, there obviously is. Hanahaki disease grows when you love someone and that love is unrequited. Depending on how far along it is, there’s a surgery that exists.” That sounded like it should be good news, but the tone of Natasha’s voice made it clear there was more to it.

“But?”

“Whoever it is, you’ll lose them.”

“I don’t even know _who_ it is. And it’ll will make them, what?”

“Practically disappear. You need to go to a doctor, Steve. I’m sure Tony--”

“No. No Tony.”

Her eyebrow flew up at that, her gaze flickered again to the water bottle again. “Okay,” she began. “But you need to see someone.”

“I have to go to DC for SHIELD. There was a doctor who worked there that always stops the others from poking and prodding too much. I’ll ask him when I go down at the end of the week.”

“If you’re sure… You know Stark--”

“Is smart. But he isn’t a medical doctor.” He didn’t know why he was being so adamant about this, they all used the workshop like it was a medic wing, but something about this disease-- Tony was busy, had been more evasive than usual. “I’ll be in DC before you know it.” Steve gestured to the TV. “Let’s watch something that takes place in outer space, far far away from flowers.”

Natasha laughed, it was forced and for Steve’s sake. “How about Doctor Who?”

-

Steve hadn’t been back at the tower from DC for longer than twenty minutes before he was seeking solace in the rooftop. The rush of air and ability to get away from the city below and all its responsibilities made the rooftop one of his favorite places of the new millenium.

Sometimes Tony or one of the others would join him up here, and, even though it was so windy you could hardly hear one another, there was comfort in their silent company.

DC had been both good and bad. He found out from Dr. Lennox that the serum was fighting the disease enough to keep it progressing into death - but he’d have a persistent and lingering cough until he had the surgery.

The surgery that would make him forever lose someone he loved. Whoever that was. He’d wondered more than once if maybe Tony would’ve come to the same conclusion as Dr. Lennox, or if Tony knew a way to zap this disease away with a wave of his repulsor hand.

Steve wondered if Tony liked DC, if Tony knew a better route to SHIELD from the train station. He wondered if while he was gone, Tony had spent time with the team or remained hidden away.

The sun broke through a cloud and it warmed his skin. His throat itched but he still hadn’t coughed up another petal, a fact that surprised Dr. Lennox. Back in DC it was almost like he could ignore it all together.

Something about New York…the tower. His team had been on his mind near constantly, and it could, conceivably, be one of them, or one of the staff that worked in the tower. He had a good repertoire with Mr. Malcolm at the front desk--

The door to the roof burst open, and he didn’t need to open his eyes to know it was Tony; he could hear his friend in a million little details, the humming under his breath, the way he always fidgeted with something in his pocket.

The fluttering in his chest expanded when Tony slid into his usual spot beside him. That was new.  

“Fancy seeing you here.” Tony had been so evasive for so long but now here he was, sitting down next to Steve. “I thought you’d be at the gym all day.”

“Tony.” Steve hummed, he usually did hit the gym when he came back from DC but today…He felt Tony’s eyes on him, and it ignited fire in his throat like Tony’s gaze was searing into the sensitive skin.

“How’s...how has work been?” Tony sounded off, uncertain, and it made Steve turn from the the warm sun to his friend. “I heard Fury’s been giving you hell down in DC.”

Steve shrugged. He didn’t want to talk about work, and it was easy to focus on what he really wanted to know: how Tony was doing. It seemed like forever since the last time Tony had been in the same room as him.

They continued to talk and it was almost easy again, he was almost able to forget how Tony had been scuttling away from him at every turn. Now, it was Tony remembering Bruce’s curry dinner, and he almost looked like he was going to laugh when Steve teased him about missing another movie night.

But then everything shifted from one second to the next, and Tony was pushing away from him, eyes wide like Steve had spooked him. He immediately rewound their conversation, tried to think about what he might have said to make Tony react in such a drastic way but before he could even ask, Tony was heading for the door.

“Tony!” he shouted, the only reply was the balcony door slamming in his face, and Steve erupted into a barrage of coughing. With Tony gone, it was like the heat he’d sparked burst through the skin and there were petals filling the back of his throat.

Tony. It was Tony.

-

It was like as soon as Steve realized who was at the root of his Hanahaki, Tony completely disappeared. Before, at least he still hung out in the common areas to fill his coffee cup or read an article on his phone. Now, it was like he was a ghost.

Steve hated it. It gritted at his nerves, made every interaction he had in the common areas one with a layer of tension underneath his skin. It was like he was poised and ready for a Tony that never came.

He carried a bottle of water with him everywhere now. Everyone noticed but the only one who would corner him to ask him about it already knew why.

He spent more time in his room, until the swelling in his chest filled when he thought about Tony and he needed to go back into the common floor for a distraction. Today, he was close to that point; he’d been sketching for hours and the eyes looked too familiar, the curve of the hand around a wrench reminded him too much of the workshop floors below.

A noise on the other side of the door startled Steve from his thoughts. He placed his sketchpad down on the couch and his ear followed the quickly retreating steps and the ding of the elevator doors. It had sounded like Tony.

Tony.

His throat clenched, burning from his chest to the back of his mouth where pain erupted. The box in front of him was obviously a gift. He swallowed back the pain and grinned when he lifted the package in his arms, knowing that Tony was probably watching.

Steve didn’t know what it meant, that after weeks of radio silence Tony was giving him a gift, but he knew he wanted nothing more than to encourage the behavior, even if it caused his chest to swell with blossoming pain. He learned during Tony’s absence that a connection to the man, any connection at all, was worth the discomfort.

That thought was what compelled him to look the camera in the eye and wink at the man he knew was on the other end. Then he slid back into his living room, coughing and coughing. He pulled open the packaging through the storm erupting from his chest, and when he pulled back the upgraded Captain America uniform, the kevlar and chainmail almost hiding the parachute Tony had hidden in the back of the suit.

Steve thought of Tony, sitting in the workshop stitching a parachute into the back of Steve’s suit and it was too much, it ripped a harsh cough, one that tore at the back of his throat, and a single cherry blossom petal landed on the red, white and blue.

The blossoms had always been about safety, about family, and in his hands was a uniform that spoke the exact same sentiments.

-

Christmas was upon them, and yet the spring flowers still haunted Steve. He knew he should tell Tony the truth about his disease; but Steve was selfish. He didn’t want to give the man yet another reason to stay away.

The new uniform from Tony was a surprise, and Steve had considered it a Christmas present - with the assumption that Tony would be missing for the entire month of December. But then the man surprised him again, with two tickets to a Met exhibit and a stroll through Central Park.

“Thank you again, Tony, really. You have no idea-- Christmas always meant so much to me and mama when I was growing up and--Central Park too.”

They walked side by side through the entrance, the sun not quite set but still the festive lights were glowing. Steve felt every brush of their arms, sparking his skin and filling his lungs with blossoms.

“It’s really nothing. We haven’t had time to catch up lately.” Tony smiled, the edges tense. “I know how much you like all this holiday stuff. Want to get some cider?” Tony abruptly changed the subject, pulling them off the main walkway to a beverage stand. Steve was more than thankful - his throat had been itching to cough since Tony pulled the tickets out of his pocket and waved them in front of Steve’s face.

“I’m getting a cider,” Tony informed. “Would you like anything? Eggnog? Cider? Mulled wine?”

“Cider sounds great.”

Tony cleared his throat and gave the vendor their order. They both took long sips of their drinks before returning to the path. On both sides of the walkway, trees were decorated with ornaments and fairy lights. They bypassed the line of people waiting to get in, and Steve was about to mention it, but Tony cut him off with a wide grin as he handed over their tickets. “Presale.”

“Today’s the caroling event,” the ticket-taker commented. “You fellas enjoy. Happy Holidays!”

“I wonder if this means they’ll be flash mobs of carolers throughout the park,” Tony said.

Steve chuckled, having to take a sip of his cider to ward off a cough. “I have no idea what that means,” he replied when he found his breath again. “But it sounds fun.”

Tony smirked, took a sip of his cider, and gestured towards the figure skating rink. They stood by it and watched people skate below, and it didn’t take long before a group of carolers joined on the side of the rink starting an rendition of Jingle Bells. They listened to a couple more carols in a comfortable silence, sipping on their drinks until they were empty.

Somewhere during the bouts of absence between them, it had become easy, friendly. They mostly focused on the team and their missions. But every once in a while it seemed Tony did something like this--lead him through a winter wonderland on the way to the christmas tree lighting. “We don’t want to miss it.”

“Do you hear that?” Steve asked when they walked around the corner. “More carolers.” Steve didn’t know what he expected, but when the christmas tree came into view, there were more carolers surrounding it, all holding hands singing Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer. He grinned at Tony, unable to contain his excitement. It was like he was bursting from the inside and with it came the all too familiar burn. He wasn’t going to be able to hold back his coughs any longer. Tony’s eyes widened as he pointed to the nearby beverage stand.  

Steve nodded, grateful, and he managed to keep the petals at bay til Tony slipped another cup of cider into his hand. Tony took a long sip of what looked to be mulled wine. “You sure seem excited about the carolers,” Tony teased. “They moved you into a coughing fit.”

“Right.” Steve felt the blush paint his face and hoped it would be hidden behind the flush of cold.

“Want to get closer?” Tony asked, when the silence between them grew a beat too long.

Steve smiled. “Sure.” He took a step and something wet hit his nose. He looked up another drop hit his cheek. He looked back at Tony who was looking up with open wonder. He looked beautiful in the flurries. Steve took a another deep sip of cider. “Come on.”

The evening was wonderful. By the end of it, Steve almost thought that maybe, possibly, Tony could love him back one day. He seemed to like Steve, at least.

But then it was the end of the night and they were on their way back to the tower.

“Thanks for taking me to the exhibition,” Steve said, feet crunching against a layer of new snow. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing it for a while, but they were entirely booked.”

“You’re welcome.” Tony gave him a soft smile. “I thought you might like it. I pulled some strings to get those tickets, but I’m sure the Met would have allowed you free entry anyway had you showed up at their doorstep.”

Steve replied, “I could, but that wouldn’t be fair for the other paying ticket holders.”

Tony scoffed then coughed. Steve felt a sympathetic twinge in the back of his own throat. When Tony turned away, each heaving breath shaking his shoulders.“Tony, you alright?” Steve asked, unable to keep the concern from his voice.

“’m okay,” Tony managed, before coughing again. It sounded hoarse, raggad, like he was coughing something up. Steve moved so he could face Tony, and that’s when he saw it, petals coming out of his mouth. Some slipped from his fingers, red petals falling onto the snow.

Steve staggered back, unable to believe the sight before him. His throat was closing, but he just managed enough breath to try and find some answers. “Tony?” Steve’s voice was right behind him. “That’s…that’s the Hanahaki.” Could it be--? “Tony,” he asked urgently, “who is it? How long do you have?” But, no. If Tony loved him, and he loved Tony, neither of them would be suffering. “Tony.” He didn’t mean for his name to sound like an order, but he was frantic to know.

“The person doesn’t love me,” Tony managed to wheeze out.

Except maybe he does, and you just don’t know it yet. “Who, Tony?”

“I can’t tell you. Please, don’t make me. I can’t do this.”

Steve froze, because while his friend and teammate had been on the field standing by his side, he’d been suffering. And Steve had no idea. His own lungs were only surviving because of the serum, but Tony? He must be in so much pain. “There’s a surgery--”

“No!” Tony gasped. “Stop.”

All Steve could think to do was hug him. Let Tony hide his face in Steve’s shirt, hoping the man couldn’t hearing his racing heart.

-

It had to be Ms. Potts...Pepper. He had awkwardly stumbled through a phone call with her and without even mentioning the disease, he could hear the strain in her voice. Tony loved Ms. Potts and she didn’t love him. To refuse the surgery, Tony must’ve known it would severe their connection. There was no one he was closer to than Ms. Potts--Pepper.

It made the most sense, he obviously loved her.

 _That_ was what Steve was fixating about on Christmas Eve.

Tony would have to be in pain when they interacted. He’d push her away, make himself scarce and dive into his work.

Except… Pepper, had been around a lot lately.

Tony must have felt pain when he interacted with the root of his Hanahaki. It was hard for Steve to hang out with Tony, even though he found himself jumping at any opportunity to do so. If Tony had been around everyday, it’d take more than a water bottle or cider to keep the blossoms away.

But Tony hadn’t been around, Tony had pushed Steve away--

A cough raked through him, petals choking the back of his throat. Exhaustion weighed on his shoulders, every hack tearing at the last of his energy reserves. Tony pushing _him_ away. Tony was avoiding Steve, not Ms. Potts. His breath caught, and he choked on more petals. But it was more than before, it didn’t abate after a handful of cherry blossoms. It grew and grew until Steve coughed up a small branch.

Panic flooded through him, but he couldn’t help but think about the first day of spring. About his mother and Central Park. About Tony, pushing him away.

Steve’s feet carried him to the elevator, and he was running as soon as the doors opened on the workshop floor. Tony froze when Steve burst through the doors; Steve didn’t have time to catch up. He needed to know. “You,” Steve said, voice rough. “Is that why you ran from me all those times?”

Tony spun around, and his breath caught.

“I asked Pepper about you. I thought it was her that you were falling in love with,” Steve explained. “Then I thought about it, and I figured it out. It was me.” It had to be. And the only reason they were both hacking up flowers was because neither of them believed the other could love them back. “I don’t understand. You’re here dying of a disease that could be fixed, if you had _just told me about it_.”

Steve stepped forward, knowing the words could be directed just as much at himself. But that ended now. Steve opened his fist. Tony glanced down.

And stared.

In the middle of it sat a cherry blossom branch, stained with red. “Here we were being idiots when all we had to do was do this--”

Steve thought of all the times Tony ran away from him, and he didn’t want him running anymore. Tony was still staring at the blossom in his hand like he couldn’t quite understand, so Steve took a deep breath and leaned down and kissed Tony softly on the lips. They’d been pining for each other, almost killing one another.

Steve pulled back, ran his thumb along Tony’s cheek. “You don’t have do die for me to love you, you know. I’d rather you live so that I could tell you that I love you too.”

Tony let one last rose fall from his lips, before stretching in Steve’s arms and giving him a kiss in return. Steve felt the roots clenching his lungs and his heart loosen, and he held tight until the other man pulled back and took a deep breath, a wide smile on his face. “I love you,” Tony said.

Steve felt joy fill his chest, a warm wash against the aching remains of the disease. He pulled Tony close, and they kissed in the circle of his red roses as the clock struck midnight of Christmas Day.


End file.
